


Resurrection

by nlans



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Angst and Feels, Angst with a Happy Ending, Dimileth angst and fluff, F/M, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Blue Lions Route, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Blue Lions Route Spoilers, More relationship tags likely to come, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-19
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-15 17:21:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 12,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29562528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nlans/pseuds/nlans
Summary: Byleth wakes to a broken world.To put it back together, she'll have to find a way to help Dimitri--and accept the truth about where she's been since the Battle of Garreg Mach.***************A retelling of Azure Moon Chapter 13 and beyond.Rating upgrade possible/likely; I’ll warn you if it does.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/My Unit | Byleth, Mercedes von Martritz/Dedue Molinaro
Comments: 10
Kudos: 35





	1. Chapter 1

She felt her bones shatter when she hit the ground. 

And again when the first rock fell. 

And the second rock, and the third, and the fourth. 

She felt blood swell from her wounds, spill into pools around her, choke her throat and nose. She saw daylight obscured as more rocks fell, felt their weight press into her, felt the air leave her lungs and not return.

And then, she no longer felt anything.

* * *

_ You. How long do you intend to sleep? _

More words followed, but Byleth was having a hard time focusing on them. She was … nowhere, as far as she could tell. It was dark and silent, except for the voice, and neither hot nor cold; she could not seem to feel her limbs.

“Sothis?” she murmured.

_ Who else would it be, you little fool?!  _

_ Bah. I have had enough of this. Get on your feet. Right now! I'll coddle you no more! You are just like a child, always needing me to hold your hand. _

A rushing sound filled her ears.

She tried to draw breath, could not, and coughed up ice-cold water. It was then she realized that the rushing sound was a river, and that someone was pulling her to the shore.

“Hey! Are you awake?”

Slowly, Byleth Eisner opened her eyes.

* * *

_ This doesn’t make sense.  _

Garreg Mach Monastery, the first place Byleth had ever truly called home, was a shattered wreck. If she’d had doubted the villager’s claim of the year—1185, five years since she’d faced down Edelgard’s army and lost—the broken towers, the dusty rubble, and the weeds and roots growing through the stairs would have removed them. This place had been broken again and again and again, and it had taken years to do it.

But Byleth herself was whole.

Although she knew she should keep watch for the thieves the villager had warned her about, she could not help but examine herself as she climbed the steps. There were still scars on her hands and legs, still calluses from training. But all of those had been there before she fell. Her mind could remember the sick  _ crack  _ of her body against the ground, the falling rocks, the broken bones, the blood. But her body, evidently, did not. 

Her clothes, too, were untouched. Her old familiar coat hung from her shoulders, slightly damp but otherwise unchanged. Her boots and armor were scuffed and scarred but not broken or crushed. The Sword of the Creator hung at her hip, its edge sharp, its scabbard pristine.

_ This doesn’t make sense _ , she repeated to herself—silently, because she had left the villager far behind her as she climbed these winding stairs and there was no one to hear her.

And then she saw the first corpse.

She hadn’t smelled it first, so she knew this person had not been dead long. He also wasn’t alone. Dead bodies lined the final stairs into Garreg Mach, each one wearing armor. Each one bore the crest of the Empire.

_ I guess the villager’s rumors were true. _

Byleth rested her hand on her sword as she climbed the final steps. Edelgard—if she still lived, which somehow Byleth suspected she did—would not suffer incompetence in her armies. Whoever the thieves were, if they had killed so many of the Empire’s men they were not to be trifled with, and she was almost certainly outnumbered.

_ Then why am I here? _

_ Because I have to find out what happened. And because I have nowhere else to go. _

Her steps slowed as she reached the top. She could see inside the monastery now, and the day’s rising light cast a brilliant halo around the stones of the entry hall. If she stepped inside, she would be utterly exposed, utterly visible. She narrowed her eyes and cast them at the shadows beyond, at the place where she would have stationed a sentry had this been her base.

And sure enough, there he was—an enormous blonde man wrapped in a haggard fur cloak. He leaned against a spear, his face in shadow, his head bowed. His breath was heavy in the cool, silent air.

_ Sleeping? Most likely.  _ He would not be the first man to fall asleep on a watch. Byleth prepared herself to move quietly, to sneak through the shadows at the sides of the room. 

She had taken one step when the light shifted and the sentry stirred. He lifted his head with a soft grunt, the kind of noise someone made when they were startled from a sleep they had only just reached. His filthy hair hung over his eyes and cheekbones, half-hiding a black eyepatch; there were scrapes on his jaw, the kind of marks someone got from tangling with a brawler at close range. But underneath the hair and blood and grime, there was something familiar about his face.

No. More than just familiar. It was a face she knew as well as her own.

With all thought of silence abandoned, Byleth stepped into the light. “ _ Dimitri? _ ”

* * *

If there had been anything in Dimitri’s stomach, he would have vomited it onto the floor right then. The sight of the Professor framed in light, with that old mix of curiosity and concern on her face, was so glorious and so horrible he nearly lost consciousness.

_ I was a fool to return here. _

_ Of course she is waiting for me. _

She held out her hand to him, but he knew the routine by now. If he tried to take it, she would slap him away; what right did he have to reach for her?

But she would expect him to acknowledge her. He forced the words from his mouth. “I should have known that one day, you would be haunting me as well.”

Byleth’s ghost did not reply. She just stared at him, her hand still extended and her mouth hanging open, and he felt himself grow angry.  _ They are always silent in the beginning, and then they have so much to say.  _

Dimitri pushed himself to stand. Whatever was to come next, he would meet it on his feet. “You... What must I do to be rid of you? I will kill that woman, I swear it.” His ghosts had made it clear enough what they wanted—Edelgard, dead at his feet. His chest tightened as he braced himself for the Professor’s fury. “Do not look upon me with scorn in your eyes!”

Byleth’s ghost blinked. “Dimitri, what the fuck are you talking about?”

Dimitri went still with surprise.

It wasn’t the profanity that shocked him. In the early days at the Academy, Byleth Eisner had been so silent as to be unnerving, cautious about every word that passed her lips. It was only after she grew more comfortable that the Blue Lions learned their Professor had a mercenary’s vocabulary. 

No, it was the baffled expression on her face that brought him up short. His ghosts mocked him, berated him, wept, cursed his name. Sometimes they just screamed in pain. But they knew why they were there; they knew what he owed them. They did not, as a rule, blink in confusion and ask him what the fuck he was talking about.

_ This … this is no dream. _

His breath caught. “You. You’re … alive?”

An odd emotion passed over the Professor’s face, something he could not quite identify. “I—I am. I was injured. I must have … slept? They told me it’s been five years.” Her eyes swept his frame, taking him in, and Dimitri fought the urge to step back into the shadows, to hide the corpse he had become. “Dimitri, what happened after the battle?”

He knew what she wanted to ask.  _ What happened to you? What turned you into this twisted thing, Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd?  _

_ Why are you the one I find here?  _

_ What right do you have to draw breath when so many others have died? _

The sight of her bathed in light was suddenly too much to bear. “Seek your answers elsewhere, Professor.” He turned to walk away. “The thieves in this place pillage and loot the villages nearby. I have rats to hunt. And I mean to kill every last one.”

A familiar sense of grim relief washed over him as he took his first steps. Seeking violence usually soothed the ghosts, made them fade into the darkness, silenced them for a while. The dead did not accompany him into battle.

But Byleth was alive, and she followed.


	2. Chapter 2

They were badly, badly outnumbered.

As individuals, the thieves were outmatched. Dimitri swung and stabbed his lance with brutal precision; he charged forward without care for his own safety, took risks no sane opponent would dare. The result was breathtakingly bloody. 

And still, the thieves kept coming.

A strange serenity flowed over Dimitri’s face as the crowd pushed nearer. With brutal clarity, Byleth realized that this is what the Prince had hoped for—that _this_ was how he had spent much of the past five years. Flinging himself into battle after battle, searching for the one he could not win.

 _Not today_ , she vowed, clutching her sword tight, swinging it in its vicious arc. _Not this battle._

_I don’t know how, but I am getting him out of this alive._

And then, as if summoned, there they were. First Ashe. Then Mercedes and Annette. Then Felix and Ingrid and Sylvain.

The Blue Lions, alive and five years older, fighting at their side once more.

If Dimitri shared her joy, he did not show it.

* * *

The familiar glow of Mercedes’s magic was so comforting that Byleth almost wanted to thank the thief who’d stabbed her arm. All around her, her former students were patching up from the fight, sharing stories of the past five years, trying to pull together some semblance of a meal from the rations they’d brought with them. 

As broken and wrecked as the cathedral was, it somehow felt once more like home. 

She turned her attention back to Mercedes, who was finishing her work. The healer had cut her long hair sometime in the past five years; Byleth wondered if it had been an aesthetic choice, or if Mercedes had been forced to cut it after injury or illness. Byleth hoped it was the former. 

“It’s truly remarkable, Professor.” 

“That we all found our way here? No kidding.” Byleth felt a ghost of a smile on her lips for the first time since she’d opened her eyes. “Not even war will stop a Blue Lions reunion, apparently.”

“No—well, yes, that is remarkable too. But _you,_ Professor.” Mercedes withdrew her magic and met Byleth’s gaze, her lovely eyes wide with wonder. “I saw you fall five years ago. We all did. You must have been so badly hurt. And yet—there’s no sign of it anywhere on you. Whoever healed you must be extraordinary. You said it was the villagers who helped you?”

The feeling of contentment vanished.

Byleth swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry. “A villager was there when I woke up. But I don’t know who healed me. There must have been someone.” _Mustn’t there?_

_Who took me from the rubble? Where did I sleep while I healed? And how did I end up in that river?_

She was about to explain the holes in her memory to Mercedes when it occurred to her that everyone else in this room had probably suffered much worse these past five years. She dropped her gaze. “I’m sorry. I should have been there. For all of you.”

_Sothis. Why could you not wake me sooner?_

“Oh, that doesn’t matter now. It really really doesn’t.” Annette’s pert, determined face popped up behind Mercedes’s shoulder. “What matters is you’re alive, and we’re back together, and we’ve got work to do. Maybe we should start by cleaning this place up.” She looked around the cathedral and smiled. “It would give us time to reminisce about the good old days at the Academy.”

“How carefree of you.”

All three of them jumped. Dimitri had approached so silently they hadn’t heard him. He was just suddenly there, his arms crossed, his lone eye glowering down at them all. Byleth waited for him to elaborate, but apparently that cutting remark was all he intended to deliver. 

“It’s smart,” she replied calmly, ignoring his tone. “Fixing this place up will boost morale. I’ll pair people up like we used to.”

Dimitri snorted. “Foolish nonsense. Leave my name off your _lesson plan_ , Professor.”

And just like that, he was gone.

Mercedes’s brow furrowed. “He doesn’t seem like himself. Do you think it would help if I made him some tea?”

Byleth had to choke back a laugh. The idea that a pot of tea would help Dimitri felt ridiculous. But it was also better than anything she’d come up with. “I don’t know, Mercie. But I bet everyone else could use some.” She stood. “I’ll go look in my room. Maybe some of my tea leaves survived the past five years.”

Just one of her boxes was still there—angelica blend, never Byleth’s favorite, and badly weakened with the passage of time. But it was better than nothing. Soon the Blue Lions were splitting their shabby little treat around the fire they’d built, telling stories and sharing jokes and teasing Sylvain about every failed affair they could remember.

Except for Dimitri, who sat in the distance, far from the warmth of the fire, staring out into the dark.

* * *

When she first began with the Blue Lions, Byleth had looked at her students like puzzles to be solved. She was unused to anyone besides Jeralt—their partnerships with other mercenary groups were always brief, and they seldom stayed in any one place for long—and so she felt a detached curiosity about the would-be knights she'd been charged with teaching. Who they were, what they wanted, what made them happy or angry or sad. 

She hadn’t anticipated how solving those puzzles would affect her. How Ashe’s kindness, Annette’s enthusiasm, Felix’s stubbornness, Mercedes’ compassion, Ingrid’s loyalty, and Sylvain’s humor would help her find those things within herself.

Getting to know them again as they restored Garreg Mach together was wonderful. And horrible. They had grown in ways that filled her with pride, but each one of her Blue Lions bore new scars from the war. They were older, more determined, more solemn, more haunted.

But only Dimitri seemed like a stranger. 

The Dimitri she’d known at Garreg Mach had listened intently to his fellow students, taken their problems seriously, gone out of his way not to abuse the weight of his title. Now he avoided even the most necessary conversations. Every reply was a snarl. And he made it absolutely clear that the Prince of Faerghus demanded the Emperor’s head, and anyone who thwarted him would be struck down as a traitor.

“You call him the boar prince,” she said to Felix one night, as the two of them trained well past when the others had gone to bed. “Is this why? Has he always been like this? Did I just not see it?” The idea that she had never known the real Dimitri was sickeningly painful, but Byleth was far from an expert with people; she knew she had to consider the possibility.

“No.” Felix parried her swing and counterattacked; she barely dodged in time. “Don’t get me wrong, I knew he was an animal pretending to be a man. But I’ve never seen him in this state.” Another strike. “I have a request. Do something about it.”

Byleth struck back—harder than she’d meant to, almost hard enough to put her footing off-balance. “Believe me, I’m trying.”

_ I just don’t know if trying’s enough. _

She would have given her sword arm to talk to Dedue. Learning he had sacrificed himself to enable Dimitri’s escape had been a blow so severe she almost couldn’t breathe.  _ Of course  _ had been her first thought.  _ Of course _ Dedue had given his life to save Dimitri. He’d told her, in so many words, that he would. 

Dedue would have known how to help his troubled Prince, she thought. But Dedue was gone. So Byleth would have to try, as best as she could, to reach the Dimitri hiding within the shattered shell before her.

On days that weren’t too busy Byleth walked down to the local village, trying to solve the puzzle of where she’d been for the past five years. She found the man who pulled her from the river and thanked him as best she could; she tried to hide her disappointment when he could not tell her anything more. 

She also tried to hide her growing unease as she visited villages further and further from Garreg Mach and returned home with no answers. The story of a woman with green hair pulled from a canyon was strange enough to be repeated, and yet, no one seemed to have heard it.

_ Where have I been? What happened to me? _


	3. Chapter 3

The others had all begun dining by the time Byleth returned home from her latest trip—yet another village upstream of the monastery. Yet another village where the local elders and healers said they’d never seen her before. She was used to this by now, but this trip felt particularly discouraging. The village she’d visited today was the last one for miles, the last one she could realistically reach and return from in less than a day’s journey. With Edelgard’s forces bound to discover them at any moment, longer trips seemed more than a little unwise.

The disappointment must have shown on Byleth’s face. “No news this time, Professor?” Annette asked sympathetically as she sat down at the end of their table, a plate of food in her hands.

Byleth shook her head. “Nothing.”

“I’m sorry. This is so frustrating!” The mage’s mouth turned down at the corners. “I just can’t believe no one knows anything.”

“No one knows anything about what?”

Byleth cast her gaze up the table. Seteth’s unsettlingly steady gaze was focused directly on her. “I’ve been trying to find whoever healed me. It … hasn’t been going well.” 

Was it her imagination, or did Seteth’s eyes widen in surprise? 

Whatever reaction he’d had was quickly suppressed, however. All he said was, “I see.”

* * *

Byleth stayed long enough in the dining hall to hear everyone’s updates about the work being done on the monastery. It would be a while before rotating crews of two could have a noticeable effect on the mess, but the task did seem to lift everyone’s spirits. And it wasn’t just the original Blue Lions any more. The handful of students who’d joined Byleth’s class had begun to find their way back to Garreg Mach as well. “Many hands are making for the lightness of work,” as Petra put it.

But soon she felt weariness settle over her, and with apologies to the others she pushed away from the table and began to walk to her room. The night was cool but not cold—yet she found herself pulling her coat closer, warding off a chill that wasn’t about the weather.

_Why can’t I find anything?_

_Five years._ Five years. _Someone, somewhere, must know something._

_Right?_

She was nearing her room when a voice interrupted her thoughts. “A moment, Professor?”

Byleth’s steps slowed. _Seteth._

She had never been entirely comfortable around Seteth. He’d made it clear soon after her arrival that he did not like her new position at the monastery. Byleth didn’t take that personally; Rhea’s decision to put her in charge of a House was, objectively, bizarre. But he was close to Rhea, and Jeralt had told her to be wary of the Archbishop, so Byleth felt it safest to be wary of Seteth too. Even as she’d grown closer to Flayn she had never entirely shed her instinctive unease around Rhea’s right-hand man.

Byleth contemplated pretending she hadn’t heard him, but he was too close; he’d never believe it. So she stopped and turned to face him. “Is something wrong?”

Seteth looked around the courtyard—to see if they were alone, Byleth realized. Once he’d confirmed they were, he spoke. “These trips you take. What are you really searching for?”

It seemed pretty self-explanatory to Byleth, but she did her best to elaborate. “I want to know what happened to me. How I recovered from what happened at the Battle of Garreg Mach.” She shook her head. “I missed so much. It feels important to understand how, and why.”

Seteth’s brows drew together. “Do you truly expect to find a healer who cared for your sleeping body these five years?” 

“What else I could be looking for?” Byleth opened her hands helplessly. “It’s the only explanation that makes any sense.”

He let out a long breath, shaking his head, the very picture of a man confronted with an unfortunate truth. “Rhea did not tell you, then.”

Byleth crossed her arms. She was beginning to suspect that she was not going to like this conversation very much. She and Rhea had never been close; it was no surprise that the Archbishop had kept things from her. “What didn’t she tell me?” 

He grimaced. “Ah. I fear this will be … well.” His gaze swept the courtyard once more before returning to her face. “I promised you once that I would help you find the truth of who you are. Do you remember?”

Byleth did. It wasn’t the kind of conversation someone forgot. “I do. You asked if I was ready to know.” She’d instinctively replied “yes.” But the way he’d talked about it made her wonder, later, if that truth might be better off buried and forgotten.

He nodded. “I was sincere in my promise. But I’m afraid it’s not quite that simple.” Another deep breath. “Five years ago, before she vanished, I asked Rhea some pointed questions about you and your father. I learned that she is the one—the only one—who holds the answers I was hoping to find.” 

“Jeralt’s diary mentioned Rhea. She’s always been … interested in me,” Byleth said uncomfortably. “Did she tell you why?”

“She is responsible for your existence,” Seteth replied simply

Byleth’s breath caught. “What do you mean?”

“It is … complicated. And Rhea was reluctant to share the full story.” Seteth shook his head. “I fear that all I could offer you are fragments of knowledge, and I worry that a partial understanding might do you more harm than good.”

She waited for him to continue. He did not.

“So … you pulled me aside to tell me that you can’t tell me anything?” She heard the annoyance in her voice. Hopefully Seteth heard it too.

Seteth shook his head ruefully. “I do not blame you for being frustrated. But I wish to save you some pains. Byleth …” 

He paused, and as she waited, Byleth realized that was the first time Seteth had ever used her name.

“It is unlikely that you will find what you’ve been looking for, a healer with a story of the young woman he or she nursed back to health,” he finished finally. His expression was serious, but not unkind. “Once we save Rhea, I believe she will be able to offer you the answers you seek. The truth of how you survived.”

 _So that’s what he wants. He’s trying to get me to put more resources behind the search for Rhea._ She felt her jaw tighten in frustration. “Seteth, how could Rhea possibly know where I’ve been for the last five years? She’s missing herself!”

Something close to disappointment filled Seteth’s face. He sighed heavily. “I did wonder if you might wish you had never searched for answers about your past, should you find them,” he said, almost as if to himself. “I will say only this, Professor: I believe you know more than you are able to admit to yourself.”

Byleth managed—just barely—not to punch him in his carefully-shaven jaw. _Enough._

“Thank you for the talk, Seteth. It’s been extremely fucking unhelpful. Goodnight.” She turned to return to her room, silently willing him to remain behind and leave her alone.

He did not follow, but he did speak as she walked away. “Byleth. Permit me to add one more thing. You, Rhea, and I … We are like family.”

She looked back over her shoulder at him, startled. His voice was earnest as he continued. “Because of that, you can be certain that I will never abandon or betray you.”

“Family? Like Dimitri and Edelgard?” Byleth shook her head. “That’s not reassuring.”

Seteth grimaced. “I take your point. I suppose all I can do is ask for your trust.” 

“ _All_ you can do is ask for my trust?” Byleth repeated skeptically. “That’s no small thing to ask for, Seteth. How can I trust you until I know what you’ve been keeping from me?”

Seteth sighed. “If that is how you feel, I suppose I understand. I hope I may yet change your mind. But I am, and will always be, your ally—regardless of whether we see eye to eye, or even whether we are friends.” He inclined his head in farewell. “Good night, Professor.”

Byleth watched until he was out of sight before clenching her fists and grinding her teeth. She wanted to scream, but a scream on Garreg Mach grounds would only bring everyone running with swords drawn. So she closed her eyes, drew a deep breath instead, and took a single step in the direction of her room. 

“Family, is it?”

Byleth felt the blood drain from her face.

There in the shadows, leaning against a wall, was Dimitri. _How does such an enormous man move so quietly?_

She crossed her arms and tried not to show how upset she was at the thought of someone overhearing that bizarre exchange. “How long were you listening?”

“Not long,” Dimitri said dismissively. “I have little interest in eavesdropping. But long enough to have a question.”

Byleth swallowed nervously. “Ask it. I’ll answer if I can.”

Dimitri took a step forward. “Where do your loyalties lie, Professor? Are they with the Church and your … _family_?” He said the word mockingly, his sneer obvious even in the dark. “I am content to work with the Knights of Seiros so long as they can help me to my revenge. But if our interests should diverge, which side will you choose?”

The question took her by surprise—and yet, the answer came to her easily. “My loyalty is with the Blue Lions, Dimitri. Whatever Seteth suspects about my … connection with him and Rhea, the Blue Lions are my family.” She paused, wondering if she should push it further, and decided to take the risk. “ _You_ are my family.” 

Dimitri visibly flinched; he recoiled as if she’d slapped him. “Sentimental foolishness,” he snarled. “My family is dead, Professor. Every time I close my eyes they curse me for leaving them in torment. All I have left is the possibility of killing that woman. See that you do not get in my way.”

His shoulder brushed past hers as he strode out of the courtyard.

Byleth took a deep breath, and another, and another, trying to find something like calm.

_Enough searching. It’s been a distraction. I must focus on what’s important._

_I have to help Dimitri. None of us will come out of this alive if I do not._


	4. Chapter 4

The dream started about a week after she returned to the monastery. 

Byleth was no stranger to recurring dreams, but this was the first one built from her own memories. 

Each night it was the same. The mage’s spell knocked her back. She fell into the canyon. Rubble fell on top of her, crushing the breath from her lungs. The world fell black. And then she heard Sothis’s voice in her ear. 

_You. How long do you intend to sleep?_

Every night Byleth hoped the dream would change. That her mind would find a way to show her what had happened in between, where she had slept, how she had been healed.

But every night she was disappointed. Spell. Fall. Crush. Black. _You._ Never anything more.

* * *

Byleth did the best she could to give Dimitri the right amount of space in the weeks that followed their reunion. Being around people clearly pained him after the long years alone, but they all wanted him to know that they were there for him, that they cared, that everyone was happy he was alive. She and the others invited him to join meals, seminars, clean-up crews. 

All of the invitations were rejected, and never politely. Slowly, the other Blue Lions stopped inviting him. But Byleth calmly accepted each “no” and tried again the next day. And the next. And the next. In their war councils she kept her face calm when he lashed out, disagreeing when she had to, but making it clear that he would not, could not, push her away. Dimitri didn’t soften towards her, but he also did not have her banished from the monastery, so Byleth persisted on her course.

The night they captured Randolph von Berglitz was different. 

There was only one possible fate for a prisoner of this rank: execution. Byleth was ready for that. She was not ready for the Prince to begin listing things he could do to the general, for him to threaten to kill the man’s family and friends before his eyes. Byleth listened to the Prince’s rant in growing horror until she could not stand it any longer. Dimitri was angry enough to carry out every hideous threat he was making, to personally cause every injury he described. 

And if he did, there would be no bringing him back.

With a grim sense of purpose, Byleth drew her knife.

“What is the meaning of this?” the Prince snarled, turning on her as she pulled her blade from Randolph’s throat. "What do you think you are doing?"

“I'm stopping you, what the fuck does it look like I'm doing?" she snapped, trying to keep a reign on her temper. Once she would have said she didn’t have a temper; apparently that had changed. “ _Torture_ , Dimitri? Causing suffering for suffering’s sake? No. I won’t let you do this. I won’t let you become this.” 

“Don’t delude yourself, Professor. I am already what you fear.” Dimitri’s face was filled with self-loathing rage. “If you do not approve of what I have become, then kill me.” His voice lowered with menace, a tone she’d heard him use with enemies, but never with her. “If you insist that you cannot, then I will continue to use you and your _family_ until the flesh falls from your bones.” 

She could tell he meant those ugly words to be an end to the conversation. Frustration and fury rose in her chest as he turned his back to her and began walking away. She shoved her knife back into her belt and began to follow. 

_Oh, no. I am done giving you your space, Your Highness._

“Use us for what? To gain your revenge? To placate the dead?” she snarled, walking fast, daring him to ignore her as she all but chased him across the courtyard. “Is that truly what Glenn and your father and everyone else would have wanted, for you to burn away the rest of your life in a quest for blood?”

“Do not speak as if you knew them,” he sneered. "Their lives were ripped from them by that monster in Enbarr. Did you not rush to slay Jeralt’s killer, Professor? And did we not rally to your side to aid you?”

Byleth flinched at the truth of that.

“How can you tell me that they deserve any less?”

“I’m not sorry Kronya is dead. But killing her did not bring my father back.” She swallowed. “I was selfish and foolish to ask you to come with me. I regret it. I’m sorry.”

The Prince snorted. “A hollow apology, as well as an unnecessary one.” 

“Learn from my mistake, Dimitri. Do not risk the people you care about to gain revenge.” Her mind raced desperately, trying to find the right words, the ones that would somehow make him see. “Your father, your friends—they’re gone. Nothing you do to her could make the slightest bit of difference to them now.”

“ _Enough._ ” Dimitri slashed his hand through the air, his steps now so fast that Byleth was nearly running to keep pace with him. “I will hear no more of this. How could you possibly pretend to know what would give them peace?"

“ _Because I know what it's like to be dead_.”

Abruptly, her steps fell to a halt.

Cold clarity flowed through Byleth’s limbs as she realized what she’d said. She felt her hands shake with the force of her realization. Her conscious mind had danced around the truth for weeks, but deep within she’d always known.

_That’s why I can’t find the person who healed me. That’s why there are no new scars from the fall._

_I died that day. Or something so close to it that it makes no difference._

_Sothis didn’t wake me up. She brought me back to life._

She shook her head and managed to focus on Dimitri. He, too, had stopped walking, though later than she had; there were now several paces in between them. He was not looking at her, and she thought she had shocked him into silence. She opened her mouth, trying to come up with what to say next.

Then he grunted—that awful, guttural sound she’d come to know so well in these past weeks, filled with disdain and fury and despair. “ _Dead_? Don’t be stupid.” He turned to face her, rage etched on every plane of his face. “It’s unlike you to stoop so low, Professor. Don’t pretend you know what they suffer because you took a five-year nap.”

_A five-year nap._

Something in the utter ridiculousness of that phrase made Byleth snap.

“ _I’m_ being stupid? Dimitri, listen to what you just said. Do you truly think I took a ‘five-year nap’?”

His upper lip curled in a sneer, but he didn’t interrupt or tell her to stop talking, so she crossed her arms and barreled on. “I fell into a canyon and I suffocated underneath a pile of rubble.” Her voice rose in frustration—with him, with herself, with Sothis, with all of it. “ _I fucking died._ ” 

“And yet here you are, standing before me, pestering me with your nonsense.” He shook his head. “I don’t know what you think to gain with this tale, but people don’t come back from the dead, Professor.”

“You’re right. They don’t. So I wonder what that makes me.” 

Her own voice sounded foreign in her ears—it was low, quiet, unsteady, afraid. For the first time, the rage on Dimitri’s face softened. Just a bit. It didn’t vanish. But there was something else there. Confusion. Curiosity. 

And when he spoke, his voice was softer than it had been, the harsh edges blunted. “What are you saying?”

“I don’t know.” She laughed bitterly, shaking her head. “I’ve never known. I’ve never known who I am, where I came from, not even how old I am. All I know is that _people_ don’t survive things like that. And, just as you said, _people_ don’t come back from the dead.” She met his gaze dead-on, daring him to look away. “So what. Does that. Make me.”

His good eye blinked. His lips parted, as if he wanted to speak but did not know what to say. The expression was so much like the old Dimitri that tears stung her eyes.

“You love to call yourself a monster, Dimitri. Well, that makes us quite a pair.” She felt a smile twist her mouth, a grim thing, no humor or joy in it at all. “How do you like having a freak at your side?”

Sympathy flickered on his face. For a moment her hopes soared—but then his mouth tightened and he crossed his arms. 

“Are you trying to make me pity you?” He snorted and shook his head in disgust. “Are you hoping I abandon the dead to soothe your feelings, tell you you’re not a freak, give you a shoulder to cry on? Poor Professor, alive when you should be dead. What a tragedy. However do you manage.”

The cold mockery of his tone felt like a knife in her chest. She _had_ been hoping for that, she realized—some part of her had hoped that he would set aside his own pain just for a moment, that she could confide in him and finally have someone to talk to. The old Dimitri would have listened. This new one couldn’t.

_What was I thinking?_

_Selfish, stupid Byleth. This is not about you._

“Fuck your pity, Dimitri. Consider this a warning.” She stepped forward—just one step, but enough to make her point. “Whatever I am, a thousand-foot fall was not enough to end me. So no matter what you do, if you try to throw their lives away”—she pointed back towards the monastery, where the rest of the Blue Lions were resting—“I’ll be there to stop you. And every time you try to throw your own life away, I’ll be there to stop that too. No matter how hard you try to convince me you’re beyond help _I am not giving up._ ”

For a moment their eyes were locked. He looked away first. 

“Dead or not, you haven’t changed, have you, Professor? Still so protective of your students.” His voice was low in the dark; she could not see his expression. 

“I will hold that woman’s head in my hands, or die in the effort. Stay if you must. But do not say I did not warn you. I am not your student. The Dimitri from your classroom is gone. And if you think otherwise, you’re a fool.”

She didn’t try to stop him this time.

Byleth stared into the dark for a long while after Dimitri vanished from her sight. Anger and frustration and despair all battled within her, each one trying to take control, each one pointing her down a different path, until all of those emotions burned out.

What was left, unexpectedly, was hope. Not a lot of it. Just a stubborn little glowing ember. But it was there. For a moment, Dimitri had cared about something besides killing Edelgard. It was not much, she knew. But it was the most promising sign she'd seen from the Prince in weeks.

_Think me a fool if you like, Your Highness._

_But the Dimitri from our classroom is still very much here. And I did not come back from the dead to watch you get yourself killed._


	5. Chapter 5

Dimitri, too, had the same dream every night. An endless sea of people he’d loved and killed.

His father. His stepmother. Glenn. The soldiers and knights and lords and ladies and the children— _ goddess, the children _ —who had been with them when they travelled through Duscur. All of them mocked him, cursed him, demanded to know why he was allowed to live when they had died.

They had been with him for years. By the time he had entered the Officer’s Academy he had grown almost used to them, had thought he could force himself to ignore their cries and be the Prince his Kingdom needed. 

Learning that Edelgard was the Flame Emperor had shattered that illusion. It had also given his ghosts a demand.  _ Kill Edelgard and we will be at peace. _

He had returned to Faerghus intent on doing just that, on taking his father’s throne and raising an army against the new Emperor. But Edelgard and Cornelia had been many steps ahead of him. Before he had understood what was happening, his uncle was dead and he was starving in a cold cell, awaiting execution.

After he fled Fhirdiad, a new face joined his ghosts. Dedue. 

_ You waste my sacrifice _ , his friend hissed.  _ I pulled you from that prison, half-starved and too weak to save yourself. I stayed behind so you could escape. And what have you done with that gift? _

_ I should have left you in that cell. _

_ Pathetic. Worthless. Monster. _

But strangely, the Professor had never become one of the faces that haunted his dreams.

She should have. She had charged to the battlefield in order to give the students time to evacuate; she had sacrificed herself for Dimitri just as Dedue had. Perhaps even Dimitri’s tortured mind had seen that she had not done it just for him, that no one could or would blame him for her choice, least of all the Professor herself.

Or perhaps, somehow, he had known that death was one more rule that did not apply to Byleth Eisner. 

* * *

Dimitri had little time to contemplate the Professor’s strange claim in the wake of their successful defense of Garreg Mach. There was too much at stake, too much for them to do. First, they had to bring the Fraldarius reinforcements safely to the monastery. After a brutal battle in the aptly-named Valley of Torment, they were able to do just that. Felix’s father Rodrigue came with them and joined the irritating chorus of voices pestering Dimitri to turn his sights toward Fhirdiad. 

Dimitri swatted away those pleas as easily as he might swat away a summer mosquito. They would march for Enbarr and Edelgard. Anything else was a pointless distraction.

But whatever their goal, they would next need to seize control of the Great Bridge of Myrddin to pursue it. And when they reached it, a miracle was waiting for them. 

Dedue.

“Your Highness,” he said when the battle was done. “Allow me to once again act as your sword and shield.”

For a moment Dimitri did not know how to reply. He could only stare into the man’s face, wondering if this was some sort of hideous trick, if his nightmares had begun to leak into his waking moments.

But … no. The man before him was not the Dedue who had tormented Dimitri’s dreams. He had aged, he bore dozens of new scars, and Dimitri could sense that his left hand would never again work as it had before Dimitri’s escape. But he was alive. He had never been dead.

Which meant that the Dedue from his dreams … had never really been Dedue at all.

But Dimitri was not ready to follow that thought down the path where it led. Dedue lived, and he deserved a reply.

“Of course,” he managed, as his remaining eye misted with tears. “But in exchange, I ask that you swear something to me, here and now. Do not ever throw your life away again. Understood?”

“Your Highness …” Dedue swallowed visibly. “Understood.”

* * *

After the Great Bridge of Myrddin, the ember of hope in Byleth’s chest flared into a small but steady flame. She had nearly interrupted Dedue and Dimitri’s reunion, fearing the Prince would say something cutting, that he would dismiss Dedue’s request or demand that his old friend accompany him on a suicide mission to Enbarr. But instead, Dimitri had accepted Dedue’s pledge and made Dedue vow to care for his own life in return. It was … it was what the old Dimitri would have done.

It was not that easy, of course. Dedue's return did seem to ease Dimitri's despair. His responses in the war council were calmer and less cruel; he no longer met every phrase with a snarl or a demand for silence. But he could still think of nothing besides killing Edelgard.

"How do we help him, Dedue?" Byleth asked quietly one afternoon, as the two of them pulled weeds in the greenhouse. Ashe and Annette and Mercedes had worked hard to restore the plants in the months past, but none of the other Blue Lions had the Duscur axeman's green thumb. Barely two weeks after his return the entire place seemed to have exploded in flowers.

"I wish I knew." Dedue pulled a stubborn root from the ground. "This is who he has always been, Professor. A man tormented by the cries of those he has lost. So tortured by his compassion for the fallen that it had driven him mad." He shook his head. “And I fear losing the two of us did not help matters.”

Byleth winced at the truth of that. “We’re back now. That has to count for something, doesn’t it?”

“I believe it does. Whether it will be enough I cannot say.” Dedue smiled sadly. “I have always feared he is too kind to be King."

"Kind" wasn't a word Byleth had used about Dimitri lately, but she could see Dedue's point. "Well, fuck," she sighed, brushing dirt from her hands. "I'd been telling myself that if only you were here you'd tell me what to do. Now you're back and I'm still at a loss."

"My apologies, Professor," Dedue said dryly. "Would you prefer I disappear again?"

"Don't you dare. I couldn't face Dimitri if you did. Or Mercedes."

Dedue's mouth dropped open; a blush rose to his cheeks. "I …" He cleared his throat. "Mercedes … yes, of course. I have never known anyone so caring. Of course she would miss any of us if we were not there."

Byleth's brow furrowed at his uneasy tone. "Oh. Did I misread the two of you? I thought … you’ve been eating every meal with her, and she used to visit you in the greenhouse even when Annette wasn't here." She frowned. "If I got it wrong I'm sorry."

Dedue looked intently at the patch of garden he was weeding. "You did not misread." His blush deepened. "I was fond of her company at the Officer’s Academy—and I find I appreciate it even more now. I have never presumed to pursue anything further, however. Five years ago I thought myself too young for her, and even now I have nothing to offer."

"Offer? Oh, like land and money?" Long ago Dorothea had very patiently explained to Byleth why those things mattered to most people. But Mercedes wasn't most people.

"Her dream is to help those in need. I don't think she wants land or money or status, Dedue." Having come to a decision, Byleth nodded firmly. "You'd be perfect together. You should court her."

Dedue pulled a clump of weeds out with enough force to scatter dirt across the cobblestones. "I would not know where to begin."

"I wouldn't either,” Byleth admitted. “Why not ask Sylvain?" She paused as she remembered how Sylvain's courtships usually ended. "No. Not Sylvain. Petra!"

"Petra?"

"She's been courting Ashe ever since she rejoined us. I think whatever she’s doing is working. He blushes every time he looks at her, anyway. And I saw them kissing.” She paused. “Don't tell anyone. I'm not sure I was supposed to see that." 

A rare smile blossomed on Dedue's face. "I will say nothing to the others. But I am pleased for them. Petra is wise to see beyond their difference in birth. Ashe is a good man."

"So are you." Byleth looked around the greenhouse. "People give flowers when they court, don’t they? Lavender. That’s Mercedes' favorite. Maybe start there?"

Dedue’s brows drew together thoughtfully. "I will … consider it."

Then Annette joined them unexpectedly and they spoke no more about it that afternoon. But Byleth noticed that Dedue took extra care to scatter bone meal around the lavender that day.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're headed for Gronder Field and a break from canon. Because let's face it, Claude helping Dimitri at the Great Bridge and then fighting him at Gronder Field makes no sense.

Few of Byleth’s belongings survived the five years of chaos and neglect at Garreg Mach. It seemed fitting, somehow, that Jeralt’s diary was among them. Some of the pages were wrinkled and stained with water droplets, and the cover had shrunk and warped, but it was still legible, and Byleth found herself reading it over and over again in the weeks following the battles at Aillel and the Great Bridge. Five years ago she had been too steeped in grief to really contemplate what Jeralt’s story meant. But she understood it now.

“You should have told me,” Byleth informed Jeralt’s grave, one cloudy afternoon when the other Blue Lions were clearing rubble from the cathedral. “I think you meant to. You said you had something important to discuss the day that Kronya killed you. But you should have told me before then.”

She paused, then forced the words out. “You should have told me I wasn’t human.”

There was no other conclusion to reach. Normal humans had heartbeats. They didn’t have goddesses in their heads. They couldn’t turn back time. And they definitely didn’t die and then wake up five years later as if nothing had happened.

She wondered what else she would discover about herself, whether she would uncover more things that she shouldn’t be able to do. Hell, Seteth claimed she and Rhea were family, and Rhea had turned into a fucking _dragon_. Coming back from the dead seemed almost unimpressive in comparison.

_If I’m not human, they probably aren’t either._

_What are we? And why won’t Seteth just tell me?_

She found herself wishing Claude were there. Five years ago she had regarded the Golden Deer’s leader as something of a pest; he’d had so many questions about her and her abilities and her past, none of which she’d been able to answer. But she could see now that he’d been putting the pieces of a puzzle together, and she wondered what else he had found.

“Have we heard from the Leicester Alliance?” she asked Rodrigue the next night, as their war council began making plans to return to Gronder Field to face Edelgard’s forces. She told herself it was just a tactical question, but she knew that was at least partly a lie.

“We have not.” Rodrigue seemed troubled by the news. “I can only hope our messenger was not intercepted.”

At the other side of the table, Lorenz cleared his throat. “I highly doubt Claude would refuse to assist us. Our interests are in alignment, and Claude prioritizes his interests above all else.”

“A common trait in the Leicester Alliance, it would seem,” Ingrid sniped from the other side of the table. “You certainly decided it was in your interest to switch sides when you realized you’d have to face the Professor on the battlefield.”

“Ingrid,” Rodrigue said, a note of warning in his voice for his son’s old friend.

But Lorenz was unperturbed. “I did what my duty required. The Empire could have crushed House Gloucester and the commoners under our protection along with us. I saw no reason to ally myself with a hopeless cause; nor did my father. Frankly, the fact that the Professor lives is the only thing that makes your efforts something other than suicidal.” He nodded at Byleth, making it clear that he intended this to be a compliment.

“Enough,” Dimitri interrupted. He lay his hand down on the map before them and spread his fingers wide, the tips of his armored gloves sharp and black against the paper. “Whether or not Claude will join forces with us, our course of action is clear.”

He tapped his forefinger twice, striking their destination. “We march for Gronder Field in two days.”

* * *

Byleth spent those two days hoping for a message from Claude. She even tucked Jeralt’s diary into her pack, expecting that Claude would join them as an ally at Gronder Field. Perhaps, once the battle was done, she could ask him what he’d learned and give him some of the answers he’d sought five years ago. 

When the time came to depart, they had still received no word, so she spent the next few days of marching watching the sky and the road, telling herself that at any moment she would spot a messenger wearing the colors of the Leicester Alliance.

But that imaginary messenger never materialized. By the time they made camp near Gronder Field, they had still heard nothing.

They did, however, spot an army nearly the size of their own flying an Alliance banner.

Rodrigue did the sensible thing. He sent another messenger to the other army. That messenger returned empty-handed, reporting that the Leicester Alliance had fired a barrage of warning arrows at her rather than let her approach.

They could no longer deny the truth. Something had gone badly wrong between Faerghus and the Leicester Alliance. An uphill battle against Edelgard’s superior force had just become an impossible fight against two different armies.

“We need to try again,” Byleth argued at the war council that night, as the Kingdom army set up camp around them. “It doesn’t make sense for Claude to fight us. We need to find out what’s happening, why he’s suddenly not willing to talk to us.”

“He has made his choice. I do not care about his reasons.” Dimitri’s irritation was obvious. “Our focus should be on defeating the Empire.”

 _Which we can’t do without the Alliance_ , Byleth thought. She found she could not say that out loud, though. Not with her former students within earshot, looking to her for something like hope.

“We could send someone he knows. I’ll go. Perhaps with Lorenz?” Byleth suggested, turning her eyes to the Gloucester heir.

“I would accompany you, of course, if I thought it could help.” Lorenz pressed his lips into a thin line, his expression uncomfortable. “But I fear that relations between Gloucester and Riegan have always been uneasy, and are especially so now. I cannot promise that Claude would see me.” 

“Of course.” Byleth tried to conceal her disappointment; she had been hoping that relations between Claude and Lorenz might be friendlier than their political rivalry suggested. “Ingrid, or Annette? I know you were both friendly with Claude at the Academy.”

“I would go,” Annette answered immediately, just as Byleth had known she would. 

“As would I.” Ingrid stood straighter. “Though I would worry about trying to fly above the Alliance in this fog. We could take horses …”

“ _No_.” 

Dimitri’s deep voice cut through every small murmur in the group. “ _Enough_ , Professor. Should you succeed at approaching the enemy camp, they will imprison or slay you without ever setting eyes on Claude. I will not risk valuable fighters on your pointless fantasy. We will meet the Alliance on the battlefield as an enemy. You had best accept that fact before we cross swords.”

“This isn't right,” Annette said softly. “They're our friends! Golden Deer and Black Eagles both. We shouldn’t … ” She swallowed. “Killing Ferdinand was awful. I don’t … can’t we at least try to find a way not to fight the Alliance?”

Byleth’s stomach twisted at the memory of Ferdinand’s body. That horrible task had fallen to Annette, whose magic had sliced through his armor like a hot knife through butter. The petite mage had slept poorly every night since. “She’s right, Dimitri. Strategically, it’s the right …” 

“ _I said enough._ ” Dimitri’s hands closed in fists as he glared at Byleth. “No more. Our path is clear. You should prepare for the battle we face, Professor, not for the one you wish we could fight.”

“If we lose, we'll have died for you.” Felix crossed his arms and glared at Dimitri. “I hope you know that.”

Dimitri looked away, and made no reply.

“That's enough, Felix,” Rodrigue said firmly. “His Highness is right. We must focus on the battle ahead.”

“Make your peace before we depart. All of you,” Dimitri growled. “It's kill or be killed out there. We will cross blades with the Empire, but it's possible we will also have to strike down the Alliance. Do not delude yourselves that it might be otherwise.”

“Your Highness.” Gilbert’s weathered face was uneasy, and Byleth saw his eyes dart to his daughter’s face. “Do you feel no hesitation about killing your former friends?”

Dimitri paused before answering; for a moment, Byleth hoped.

But those hopes were soon crushed. “If they must die, I will kill them,” the Prince replied. “Nothing could be simpler.”

* * *

Byleth tried to temper her worry about the upcoming battle by assigning tasks. Ingrid and the other pegasus knights could not see through the thick fog from the sky, and so she began pairing off their quietest swordsmen to scout on the ground and find out what they could about the other forces gathering at Grondor Field. In the early hours of the morning, she and Petra set out to scout the Alliance.

It was Petra who spotted the archer first.

The Princess’s warning shout gave Byleth just enough time to dodge; the arrow whistled over her head, missing her by inches. She leapt up to strike back but Petra was already halfway up a tree—and then Petra was falling, arms wrapped around the soldier who had fired the arrow.

Byleth ran over to find Ignatz Victor pinned beneath Petra, the Princess’s blade at his throat.

It took her a moment to recognize him. She had not known Ignatz well and he was larger than he’d been five years ago, his shoulders broader, his hair shorter. But he still wore the same wire-rimmed glasses, and he still looked entirely unenthusiastic about being on a battlefield.

His expression darkened when he saw Byleth. “ _Professor_?” he gasped. “Why—how. How _could_ you?”

Petra scowled at that. “ _You_ are the one firing an arrow.”

“And you’re the ones planning to betray Claude.” 

Byleth’s jaw dropped. “What?”

“We saw the letters, Professor. Maybe you didn’t have anything to do with it. But Dimitri …” Ignatz tried to sit up, but gasped and fell back when he attempted to put weight on his left elbow.

Byleth knelt next to him. “Your arm is broken, isn’t it?”

Ignatz’s mouth tightened; he did not reply.

Somewhere deep in Byleth’s mind, a plan began to form. It was a strange plan, and probably not a good one; it depended on Claude being more or less the same person he’d been five years ago.

But it was the only plan she had that didn’t end with the Kingdom being annihilated on the battlefield.

“Here’s what’s going to happen, Ignatz. I’m going to heal you. And then you’re going to take me to Claude.”

* * *

Even with his injury healed, Ignatz was wary of taking Byleth to the Alliance’s leader. “You could try to assassinate him,” he pointed out. 

And so Byleth did what she had to do. “If you can’t walk me in as an ally, take me there as a prisoner. I’ll leave my weapons here.”

“I am not liking this,” Petra hissed as Byleth handed her the Sword of the Creator. “I am not liking this _very much_.”

“I don’t like it either,” Byleth admitted, even as she handed her pack over to Ignatz. “But I need to talk to Claude. If this becomes a three-way fight, the only winner will be Edelgard.”

She and Ignatz exchanged only a few words as they made their way through the forest around Gronder. He was clearly wary of her, clearly unsure of his decision, and she did not want to say anything that might give him cause to change his mind. But she remembered how he had wanted to be a painter, how he had chafed against his family’s wish for his knighthood, and had to swallow against rising sorrow to see him on a battlefield.

The Alliance army was well-hidden, tucked among the thickest part of the trees. They had clearly arrived at Gronder Field before the Blue Lions; their camp was better-fortified, their tents already pitched. At the center of the camp stood a large octagonal tent bearing the crest of House Riegan. Ignatz walked her straight to the tent flaps at the front.

Two guards stood watch in front of the tent. They nodded at Ignatz, a gesture close to a bow—but then their eyes focused on Byleth. 

“Who’s this, sir?”

“She’s. Ah. A prisoner?” Ignatz looked over at Byleth almost in apology. “I guess technically she surrendered.”

The guards looked at each other, clearly wondering why Ignatz had marched a prisoner straight to Claude’s doorstep. “Should we escort her away, sir?”

Byleth’s stomach clenched as she watched Ignatz consider the question. She tried not to show her relief when he answered, “No. Lord Claude knows her. What happens next will be up to him.”

Slowly, the leather flaps of the tent pulled open, and Byleth stepped inside.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today's update (3-14) includes an additional scene in Chapter 6!

One by one, the scouting pairs returned with reports. Dimitri, Rodrigue, and Dedue listened to each one inside the large tent that served as their war room; Rodrigue made marks on their map of Gronder Field, building a sketch of the enemy’s forces.

Rodrigue’s face grew more worried with each new estimate of the enemy’s troops, and even Dedue’s expression grew increasingly grave, but none of the information came as a surprise to Dimitri. 

_So we are outnumbered. Friendless. Alone. As if I have not been so since I left Fhirdiad._

_It does not matter. All that matters is killing that woman._

_I will cut a path to her on the battlefield myself if I must._

It was late morning when Dimitri realized that the Professor was not one of the scouts who had reported in.

He pushed that thought aside—Byleth Eisner could look after herself—and forced himself to focus on Felix and Sylvain. Felix was delivering a monotone account of the forces they’d spotted, punctuated with poisonous looks at Dimitri. The Prince was accustomed to those looks from his old friend by now; he glared back and said nothing, letting Rodrigue take the lead in dealing with his son.

Then, at the front flaps of their tent, he spied the familiar golden-orange glow of Byleth’s sword.

It took him a moment to realize that it was Petra who carried it, and that she was walking in alone. 

“ _Where is the Professor_?”

Too late, Dimitri realized he had shouted; everyone in earshot went still, and every eye was fixed on him warily. Even Felix jumped a bit at his tone.

Petra swallowed nervously and squared her shoulders as she approached. “I—we were doing the scouting, and I captured Ignatz. The Professor has asked him to take her to Claude.”

The world spun around Dimitri. “She did _what_?”

“It is not an entirely bad idea, Your Highness,” Rodrigue said soothingly—though his expression was alarmed. “Your Professor is quite persuasive. Perhaps she will succeed where our letter failed.”

“Or perhaps she will cost us the battle,” Dimitri snarled, turning on him. “Do you not see that the Leicester Alliance now has our most able commander in their clutches? I _told_ her that Claude’s choice did not matter. Why does that woman refuse to _listen_?”

“Because she can count?” Felix snapped. “Because she can see that we’re hopelessly outnumbered if Claude doesn’t throw in his lot with us, and unlike you, she cares if we all die?”

Dimitri ground his teeth. “I tire of hearing your voice, Felix.”

“Then do something about it, boar prince.” There was an unfamiliar wobble in Felix’s voice. This was not Felix merely needling him, Dimitri realized; the other man was truly angry. “Cut me down, or try, if you’re weary of hearing the truth.”

“Enough!” Rodrigue stepped in between them. “Felix, go … somewhere else. This is not the time. Not with Edelgard’s forces poised to strike at any moment. We cannot use our strength against each other.”

Felix sneered, and seemed about to say something else—but then Sylvain put a hand on Felix’s shoulder. “Come on, Felix. Walk away from this one. The Professor’s coming back. Let her deal with him.”

And, to Dimitri’s surprise, Felix merely threw him one last withering glare and walked away. Sylvain met Dimitri’s eye and shook his head with something like disappointment before following. 

“Sylvain is correct. The Professor will return.” Dedue’s voice was pitched low, for Dimitri’s ears only. “But we cannot assume she will persuade Claude to join us. We should prepare for the worst.”

Dimitri looked over at his friend and drew a breath. “Yes. You are right.”

His fists tightened. “One way or another, I will face Edelgard tomorrow.”

Dimitri had spent many long months cold and alone, dreaming of the day when he would face the Emperor, the woman who had taken everything from him. But as he walked around the camp, trying to keep his mind on the battle ahead, he found that all he could think about was Byleth. 

_How could she take such a risk?_

_She thinks herself invulnerable. Foolish nonsense._

_And there are fates far worse than death._

A memory of Randolph von Berglitz’s face suddenly rose in Dimitri’s mind. He knew what he had threatened to do to his enemy commander, the horrors he had wanted to inflict in his rage.

And now Claude had Byleth at his mercy.

 _Claude would not harm her_ , he tried to reassure himself, even as his hands began to shake and his stomach clenched in fear.

_She will come back. She must._

* * *

The past five years had been remarkably good to Claude von Riegan.

He’d grown a narrow beard along his jaw and grown his hair out somewhat; he’d traded his Academy uniform for a quilted coat and colorful sash. Byleth smiled a bit at that. She’d grown to suspect that Claude liked clothing and had chafed against the black-and-white required at Garreg Mach.

The young leader of the Alliance was sitting at a table, moving small wooden blocks around at map, as Hilda stood over his shoulder. Leonie was seated across the table from him, her face serious as she looked at the pieces. Lysithea sat next to Leonie with a scowl on her pert face. At the side of the tent, Raphael was examining his gauntlets and Marianne was quietly praying, her head bowed and her eyes closed.

Ignatz cleared his throat. When that got no response, he cleared it again, slightly louder. Finally Claude responded, his eyes still focused on the board. “Hey, Ignatz. What’s the scouting report?” 

“I, um. I’ve got someone who wants to talk to you.”

The Alliance leader’s head snapped up in surprise, and as their eyes met, Byleth had the very satisfying experience of seeing Claude von Riegan at a complete loss for words.

It didn’t last long, however. After a moment, Claude shook his head and grinned. “Well, well. Hey there, Teach. Long time no see.” He leaned back in his chair, as casual as if Byleth had just dropped by his home for a chat. “You look … exactly the same. Which is a little weird, if I’m being honest.”

“I can imagine,” Byleth said wryly. 

“Ignatz, did you _really_ just lead the commander of our enemy’s army to our camp?” Lysithea gave him a withering glare.

“She surrendered,” Ignatz replied defensively.

“Uh-huh.” Leonie’s skepticism was clear even without her raised eyebrow.

“You _surrendered_ , Professor?” Raphael’s eyebrows shot up almost to his hairline. “I never woulda thought it!”

In spite of herself, Byleth smiled a bit at that. “I wanted to talk to Claude. We sent a messenger to you, asking you to join forces with us here at Grondor,” she told the Alliance leader, whose eyes had not left hers even as his friends bickered in the background. “And here you are, but you don’t seem to be answering us. What’s going on?”

“Right, the messenger. We found him. Dead, and with a bag full of very interesting letters.” Claude crossed his arms and raised his eyebrow at her.

Suspicion bubbled in Byleth’s stomach. “Interesting … how?”

“Well, like you said, there was a very nice letter inviting us to join forces here at Gronder Field. I liked that one. The one I liked less was the one to Count Gloucester. You know, the one from Dimitri, promising the Kingdom’s help taking down House Riegan if Gloucester backs up Faerghus against the Empire.” Claude’s dark eyes narrowed. “I didn’t believe it at first. But imagine what I thought when I heard that Lorenz Hellman Gloucester turned up at Garreg Mach.”

Byleth felt her blood run cold. 

“It’s not true,” she managed. “The Empire must have killed our messenger and planted that letter. Claude, what would the Kingdom possibly gain from having Gloucester and not Riegan at the head of the Alliance? A month ago you helped us capture the Great Bridge! Why would we suddenly decide to betray you and back Lorenz’s father?”

Claude shook his head. “Frankly, I had the same question. I don’t think _you_ would do something that underhanded. But I don’t pretend to know what goes on in Dimitri’s head.”

“Well, right now it’s not complicated,” Byleth said tartly. “He thinks Edelgard was responsible for the Tragedy of Duscur, and he wants her dead. Believe me when I say that the internal politics of the Leicester Alliance are not something he’s giving a lot of thought to at the moment.”

Claude considered this. “And Lorenz?” 

“We crossed blades at the Great Bridge. I won,” Byleth said simply. “So I asked him to join us.”

“Couldn’t kill a student, huh, Teach?” Claude asked softly, something like sympathy in his eyes.

Byleth swallowed against the taste of bile in her throat. Not all of the students at Garreg Mach had been Blue Lions, of course, but all of them had sat in one of her classes at some point. The idea of any one of them at the other end of her blade was unbearable. And unavoidable.

“I could. If I had to,” she admitted soberly. “But I don’t want to. Fortunately Lorenz was willing to listen.” She took a deep breath. “Claude. I wouldn’t be here unarmed if the Kingdom wanted to be your enemy.”

“Here’s the thing, Teach. I want to believe you. I really do.” Claude uncrossed his arms and looked at her seriously, drumming his fingers against the table. “But I don’t like the rumors I’ve been hearing about your Prince. I’m not sure I can trust him. And I’ve got a chance here to secure the Alliance’s future. If I let the Empire and the Kingdom fight it out, I can sweep up what remains of both forces, and then I don’t have to worry about being invaded again for a very long time.”

“That’s the same strategy you used at the Battle of the Eagle and Lion, isn’t it?” Byleth raised an eyebrow. “Let the other two armies weaken each other, then you come in and claim victory?”

Claude winked at her. “I’m flattered you remember.”

“Well, there’s a problem with your strategy this time. The Empire outnumbers the Kingdom. By a lot.” Byleth drew a deep breath. “And they outnumber you too. If Edelgard crushes us on the battlefield you’ll be next, and you’ll have her full attention. We need you. And you need us.”

She could see Claude wavering. Desperately, Byleth searched for what to say next, for the words that would make him believe that she was telling the truth, that he could trust her word.

Then she remembered her satchel.

“Ignatz, there’s a book in my bag. Would you give it to Claude?”

“A book? Let me guess, it’s a tragedy about a three-sided battle gone horribly wrong? A handsome leader who dies because he won’t trust his old teacher?” Claude quipped as Ignatz dug into her sack.

“Not exactly. I’m hoping you’ll take it as a show of good faith.”

Byleth swallowed hard as Ignatz put the book into Claude’s hands, as the Alliance leader began to turn its pages. He looked up at her, stunned. “Is this …?”

“Jeralt’s diary,” she confirmed. “It answers some of those questions you used to ask me. Not all of them. But I brought it to Gronder Field because … because I want those answers too, and I was hoping you could help. I assumed we’d be fighting on the same side. I hope we still can.”

She could feel every eye in the tent on her, could feel the gathering wondering what they were talking about. She saw Leonie’s face pale at the mention of her old mentor, saw Lysithea’s brows draw together in suspicion and curiosity as Claude flipped through the diary.

After a moment, Claude closed the cover on the book. “I’ve gotta hand it to you, Teach. You know how to get my attention.” He looked over at Hilda. “What do the numbers look like?”

“Hmm. The Professor’s got it right.” Somehow Hilda managed to sound mildly bored by the fact that a massive battle was about to unfold at any moment. “Together, the Kingdom and the Alliance have almost as many troops as good old Edelgard. But alone? Yeah, I’d say we’re horribly outnumbered.”

“You heard her, guys.” Claude looked around the room, meeting the eyes of every member of his house. “What do you think? What’s our play here?”

“I trust the Professor,” Marianne said suddenly. It was the most decisive sentence Byleth had ever heard Marianne utter. “I think we should fight alongside the Kingdom, and the Church.”

Vague murmurs of agreement rose among the former students.

“Took the words right out of my mouth, Marianne.” Claude grinned. “There you have it, Professor. We’re in. Just don’t make us regret it, all right? If this turns out to be a mistake Judith will never let me hear the end of it.”

Byleth took a deep, relieved breath. "We won't. I swear it."

Claude stood and extended his hand. “Hilda, go tell the generals we’ve had a change in strategy. Teach, you come with me. I think Dimitri and I need to meet face to face to make this official. I’ll give you a ride.”

“You’re cavalry now?” Byleth asked curiously as she followed him from the tent.

“Sort of.” He flashed her a grin. “You’ll see.”


End file.
